


Let's Spend the Night Together

by ifishouldvanish



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: Anyelle, Bad Flirting, F/M, Making Love, Making Out, PWP, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2017, Sharing a Bed, Sorry Not Sorry, post-coital discussions of the extraterrestrial, rushacey, terrible, the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 12:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13076835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: Lacey French was managing her crush on her curmudgeonly roommate Nicholas Rush pretty well. That was, until she came home from her shift one cold December evening and found out that the heater had broken.RSS gift for @avatoh, who prompted, "huddling for warmth in winter"





	Let's Spend the Night Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Otava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otava/gifts).



Lacey couldn't get out the door fast enough after her shift at the pharmacy. She'd spent the entirety of her day listening to grating holiday music over the store's sound system and hollowly returning one cheerful _Merry Christmas_ after another. Once she was home though, she could finally throw on her pajamas, curl up on the couch to watch some TV, and forget how lonely she was going to be on Christmas this year.

As she put her coat on, her eyes drifted back to the little galaxy keychain on the counter display for the dozenth time. It was $3.99, and it made her think of Rush.

She’d been thinking about buying it for him as a little way to express… something. _That she appreciated him letting her live in his house?_ That's what she gave him a week's worth of pay for every month. _That she was thinking about him this holiday season?_ The thought made her roll her eyes. _That she kind of wanted to make out with him?_ Yikes.

She let out sigh and grabbed her purse, leaving the keychain behind as she stepped out the door and into the cold. Rush seemed to be as bah humbug about the holidays as she was, and what was he going to do with a crappy keychain, anyway?

 _Probably point out how inaccurate the rendering was or something,_ she thought with a smile.

Snow crunched beneath her boots as she headed to the bus stop, and she wondered if he would even be home tonight. Perhaps he'd be at the University, grading papers or giving one of his students a lecture about how they needed to apply themselves. But even when he was home, he spent most of his time holed up in his office. They still had the occasional friendly conversation at midnight though, when she'd come home from the bar and find him in the kitchen, anxiously hovering around the coffee pot and feverishly flipping through his notepad.

As she got off at her stop and rounded the corner, Lacey noticed his car parked in the driveway– a 2001 Civic with a clover green paint job that had gotten dull and faded from UV damage over the years. She couldn't help smiling at the sight of it as she walked down the sidewalk and up to the front door.

When she stepped inside, Lacey wasn't greeted by the inviting warmth she'd come to expect over the past few weeks. Perhaps Rush had been out of the house all day and just not gotten around to putting the heater on yet, she thought.

Heading to her room to change, she kicked her boots off and stripped out of her clothes, carelessly tossing them on her bed. She let out a relieved groan as she took her bra off, but as she put her pajamas on, the warmth that had previously been trapped under layers of clothing escaped her body and left her shivering.

“Dude, it's fucking _freezing_ in here!” She shouted across the house.

“Heater’s broke.” Rush said, appearing in her doorway. His eyes snapped down to her chest for half a second before snapping back up to her face, and a quick glance at her chest revealed that her nipples were already pebbled beneath the thin fabric of her pajama top. She looked back at up him and he just stared back, unflinching.

Lacey crossed her arms over her chest and groaned. “Do you _mind?”_

Rush shrugged and headed back down the hall. “Contraction of the areolae is a perfectly natural response to the cold.” he hollered over his shoulder. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Rolling her eyes, Lacey pulled a sweater over her shoulders and followed him into the kitchen. “...Well? You're like, a _rocket scientist–_ Can't you fix it?” she huffed, leaning against the doorframe.

He poured himself what was probably his twelfth cup of coffee today and took a small sip, hesitating a moment before giving an approving half-shrug. “...For the hundredth time,” he said, “I'm not a bloody rocket scientist. I'm an astrophysicist.”

She turned her palms up and hiked her brows, wordlessly asking what the difference was. In truth, she knew damned well what the difference was– but it was still fun to watch him get worked up over it.

 _“How_ long have you been squatting in my house?” he asked, and Lacey rolled her eyes. “I'm no’ explaining it again. Repair man will be here in the morning.”

"Hey, I don't _squat!”_ Lacey argued. “I pay you on time!” She said, and she could already see him getting ready to cite half a dozen cases where she hadn't. “ _...Most_ of the time.”

Rush huffed a little laugh through his nose and smiled. “Regardless, ye make more mess than you’re worth.” he said, taking another careful sip.

Lacey's jaw dropped halfway to the floor. _“I_ make mess!? You're one to talk, pal! With your… notes! And cigarette butts! And empty coffee mugs! Literally fucking everywhere!” she said. “Who do you think washes all those, huh? The _caffeine_ fairy!?”

“Just put some actual pants on for once and stop complaining.” he said, nodding at the tiny pajama bottoms she was wearing.

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him. Rush made a comment about the lack of pants in her wardrobe almost every day. At this point, she was basically parading around the house in her underwear out of spite. Nonetheless, she couldn't help taking pleasure in the fact that he was _noticing_ her legs.

“Let me guess–” Lacey said. “Back when you were in _Glasgae,_ you used to walk uphill in the snow both ways with nothing but a bottle of scotch and the memory of Scotland beating England at Wembley to keep you warm.”

Rush waited to see that she was finished and smiled. “...Socks help too, Miss French.”

Lacey groaned and stomped back into her bedroom to layer up. “You're the shittiest landlord ever.” she shouted down the hall. “I hope you know that.”

"Don't be so dramatic.” he hollered back. “I’ve got some firewood for the stove I'll put on when it gets colder later.”

“Oh, great.” She threw her head back and laughed as she pulled on her coziest pajama bottoms. “Instead of freezing to death, I get to die in a fire.”

“You know, in the event of a house fire, you likely wouldn't feel a thing because you'd be rendered unconscious by carbon monoxide poisoning first,” Rush said. “So you're welcome.”

Lacey sputtered a laugh despite herself, making sure to wipe the smile off of her face before leaving her room. This really had to be the most bafflingly stupid crush she's ever had– but the heart wants what it wants, she supposed.

When she returned for her date with the television set, she found Rush already seated on the couch, sipping his coffee and flipping through his notepad. She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him and wondering how in the hell his hair always managed to look so soft and shiny.  That was one thing she couldn't decide if she was attracted to or envious of.

Probably both.

“To what do I owe the privilege of being _graced_ with your presence tonight, Doctor?” Lacey asked.

He took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. “S’cold in my office. Better insulated in here. Interior room an’all that.”

“...huh.” Lacey said, slowly taking her seat opposite him on the couch. “Well, I better not hear you bitch about my taste in TV shows. I'll have you know that I only consume the _finest_ examples of mindless escapism.”

Another sip. Another shrug. Only this time, the corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a little smirk.

 _God,_ she _definitely_ wanted to make out with him. And maybe cuddle. Not because she was secretly in love with him, but just because it was cold. And the fact that the image of the two of them exchanging gifts on Christmas morning had been crossing her mind all week was only because they lived with each other and that's what people who lived with each other were supposed to do.

Whatever. Seven o'clock was her favorite campy drama series about a bunch a magical beings who'd been displaced to another realm. After half an hour of curling herself into a ball and tucking herself against the back of the sofa, Lacey could almost forget how cold she was, and how convoluted the timeline for the show was getting this season.

But then there were her feet. They were still cold. So, so cold.

Biting down on her lip, she extended her legs and tucked her toes beneath Rush's thighs where he sat at the other end of the couch.

 _“Christ,_ Lacey!” he said, nearly jumping out of his seat. “Your feet are bloody freezing!”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Wow. You really _are_ a fuckin’ genius, aren't you?”

He muttered something under his breath and stomped back into his bedroom. For a moment, Lacey though he'd decided to brave the cold in there by himself instead of sharing the sofa with her, and it was on the tip her tongue to yell across the house that he forgot his stupid coffee on the table– but then he came back. Now he was wearing a grey sweatshirt that was definitely a size or two too big for him, and carrying a pair of socks and a blanket.

The word _OXFORD_ was stamped across his chest in oversized letters, and Lacey wondered if he'd _always_ been so tiny, or if he'd only lost all that weight in the years after his wife's passing. He never talked about that, of course– about _her–_ but Lacey always prided herself on being more observant than she let on, and knew better than to knock on his door when she heard violin music playing.

“You know,” she said, “I could take you shopping one day. Bring your wardrobe back into the 21st century.”

“My wardrobe serves me just fine.” he muttered, tossing the blanket on the couch and holding a pair of old tube socks out to her.

Lacey frowned. She was pretty sure the things used to be white at _some_ point, but now they were the same color as the slushy snow along the curb outside, and pilled from about a decade's worth of wears and washings.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Socks. Nice, thick ones, not those…   _wee_ things.” he said, frowning at the little black no-shows on her feet.

She folded her arms over her chest and looked past him, at the TV. “I don't want your _gross_ old socks, Rush.”

He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. “They're just washed!”

Lacey grinned and arched a brow at them. “...You sure about that?”

“You know what? Fine.” he huffed and began sulking back to his bedroom. “Was just a _thought.”_

A smile tugged Lacey's lips as she watched him go, but she felt a heavy ache in her chest. He was being _thoughtful,_ and that was a rare thing. It came out sometimes though, like the time he wrote her a letter of recommendation for a job without being asked. If anything could get you a job, it was a letter from a tenured Berkeley professor with a doctorate from Oxford– and he didn't bullshit the thing, either. (She'd learned quickly that Dr Nicholas Rush didn't bullshit _anything.)_ Instead, the letter actually identified the things she was good at and cited examples of her best traits– and Lacey couldn't remember ever feeling more confident in herself than she had after she finished reading it. The resulting high of ‘ _I deserve better in life, damn it!’_ even inspired her to break up with Gary’s deadbeat ass the next day.

There was also the time he told off a bad date of hers who kept trying to invite himself in at the end of the night. The guy had stomped off muttering something about her already having a boyfriend, and Lacey could remember being quite tickled by the thought of her and Rush being an item for the first time.

Rush insisted that he had only done it because their ‘little quarrel’ was making it impossible for him to concentrate on his work– but that didn't explain why he also took the time to ask her if she was okay, made her tea, and listened to her rant about what an ass the guy was until two in the morning. Lacey's heart did a flip as she recalled the whole thing, and _God,_ it was even worse than she thought.

_“Wait.”_

Rush stopped walking to his bedroom and looked over his shoulder at her. “What?”

“I changed my mind.” she giggled. “I want the socks.”

He sighed and hurled them at her face, but he missed and they landed on the floor instead.

“You are _so_ not an athlete.” she snorted, and swiped them off of the floor. “No accuracy whatsoever.”

He ignored her and walked back over, dropping down onto the couch with a heavy sigh. He pulled his notepad out of his pocket and crossed one leg over the other, using his thigh as a surface while he read over his notes, tapping his pencil on his knee.

It was easiest to tease him, because how else did one flirt with a man like Rush? He seemed immune to her skimpy outfits, and unimpressed by how many shots she could do. She knew he was probably way out of her league by merit of the fact that she was a cashier who hustled pool by night and he was an accomplished scientist– so clearly the best course of action was to remind him of all of his shortcomings wherever possible, right? Level the playing field?

He didn't seem to mind it, at least. In fact, that he didn’t give a rat’s ass about whether people liked him or not was one of her favorite things about him, and he had to know better than she did that at the end of the day, they were all just dust in the wind. Fleshy clusters of stardust hurtling through spacetime toward the event horizon of a supermassive black hole beyond which there was no escape. It had only taken her about five educational YouTube videos on advanced physics and relativity to draw the conclusion that anyone who worked in the field would _have_ to develop a dark, bitter, and caustic sense of humor in order to cope with how utterly meaningless and unreal everything apparently was– Just like anyone who worked retail for any amount of time.

Lacey watched him as she put his socks on, delighted to find the old things came almost up to her knees and were in fact, very warm. Rush tilted his head and knit his brows for a moment– seeming to have found some kind of discrepancy in his notes– and brought a hand up to nudge his glasses up his nose.

She’d always liked his nose. And his eyes. And his cheekbones. In retrospect, anyway. When she'd first answered his ad and stopped by to check the place out, she figured the reason she kept staring at him was because she found him kind of goofy looking. Denial was a funny thing.

It soon occurred to Lacey that she wasn't really paying attention to her show anymore. She never really got to see Rush work before, but now he was so focused, and well– he looked _cute._ He was practically _swimming_ in that sweatshirt, and it made him look so small and… snuggly, and what if she were to rest her head on his shoulder?

He reached his hand up again to scratch his beard, and the thought of how all that scruff might feel against her skin if she kissed him took hold of her mind.

“Aren't you going to use that?” Rush asked, his eyes still fixed on his notepad.

Lacey rolled her shoulders and yawned, turning back to the TV with feigned nonchalance. “Use what?”

He rolled his eyes. _“The blanket.”_

“Oh.” She blinked and glanced down at the ball of heavy, moss green fabric between them. “It's for me?”

He shot her a defeated look and returned to his work.

She hesitated a moment before grasping the corner of the blanket and pulling it up to her chin. There was plenty of excess length bunched between them, so she kicked it out toward him. It reached his thigh and slid back down, so she tried again.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I'm trying to share the blanket with you!” she laughed, scooting closer to him so it could reach better.

He paused and blinked at her for a moment before shrugging and looking back down at his notes. “That's… really not necessary.”

“Oh, gimme a break! It's cold as balls in here. You _men_ and your pride.”

He gave a little huff and stared at the blanket, reluctantly tugging it over his lap. “...Fine.”

  
  


*****

  
  


Rush caught himself starting to tug the blanket further over his lap and sighed, throwing it off of his body instead. Lacey was tightly curled into a ball, blanket tugged up to her chin. His eyes darted to the wood burning stove in the corner and the pile of wood he'd prepared beside it. Now was as good a time as any.

“Where are you going?” she asked as he stood up.

“Putting the fire on,” he said. “You're shivering.”

“Oh.” She shrugged, turning back to the TV.

“I promise not to burn the place down, a’right?” he said as he squat down in front of the cast iron unit.

“I was just joking, you know.” she grumbled. “I like... trust that you know what you're doing and crap.”

He scoffed and opened the damper, starting to load the stove up with scraps of newspaper. “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” he said. After plucking a few small pieces of wood from the pile and loading them in, he tossed in a match and closed the door.

“That's all you're putting in?” Lacey asked.

Rush glared at her over his shoulder. “It's just the _kindling,_ Lacey. You know– why don't you do me a favor, stick to your mindless escapism, and leave the fire to me. Aye?”

She tugged the blanket up to her chin again and huffed. “Fine.”

He turned back to the fire with a little smirk tugging at his lips. While he would never admit it out loud, Rush actually enjoyed having Lacey French live with him. He'd initially written her off as an immature party girl with no motivation in life. But as it turned out, she was in fact a very bright and hard-working person who was just used to being underestimated all the time. She was still a scantily-clad barfly who could no doubt drink him under the table, but it didn't take long for him to realize she could be both of those things.

She also seemed to have the same problems with authority he had, as evidenced by the fact that she'd gotten fired from that job he wrote her a glowing recommendation for– all because she called the boss a slew of insults that included (but were far from limited to) ‘douchebag,’ ‘fucking moron,’ and ‘incompetent prick.’

So, yes. He liked Lacey French, and he knew that when she eventually moved out, he'd miss having her around. Even if she _did_ have a tendency to leave her laundry in the machine for days at a time, leaving him no choice but to carry armfuls of skimpy clothes and lacy thongs into her room on more than one occasion.

The kindle wood began to crackle, so he added a few larger pieces of wood to the fire. It cracked and roared and the logs settled with a thud, creating a sudden burst of bright sparks that leapt across the room.

“Whoa, careful with that shit!” Lacey shouted.

He closed the door looked over his shoulder again, catching her as she tried to restore her usual air of unaffected cool.

“Just… don't burn your hand off, I mean.” she mumbled.

As much as Lacey acted like she didn't care, Rush knew better. After all, he was guilty of the same. The truth was that for all their bickering and sarcasm, there was a mutual respect between them. A mutual concern for the other. An affection.

Which was to say that he wouldn't want her to burn her hand off, either.

The flame steadied and Rush closed the damper, finally joining her on the couch again. It was easy enough to tune out the TV once he found his place in his notes, and the quiet crackling from the stove provided a relaxing bit of ambience despite the melodrama unfolding on the TV screen.

After a few minutes, Lacey lowered the volume, and the resulting decrescendo of chirping noises grabbed his attention. “You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think this was kind of _romantic...” s_ he teased.

He lost his place in his notes then, feeling a warmth in his face that he couldn't attribute to the fire. “Hmh.” he shrugged.

“What was that?”

Rush cleared his throat. “Good thing you _do_ know better, then.”

She hummed as if he'd just said something interesting and turned the volume back up, returning her focus to the TV.

Rush's mouth was suddenly so dry, his hands suddenly so clammy– and as he tried to finish his latest calculations, his thoughts were interrupted by ones of Lacey. Her face, her laugh, her legs...

Not her perky nipples poking through her shirt, though. Definitely not those.

He fidgeted in his seat a little to temper the way his body was responding to his wandering thoughts. Soft breasts. Damp thighs. Those damned nipples and how they would feel against his palms or his tongue.

He tore the page out of his notepad, crumpled it in his fist, and tossed it over by the wood burning stove. Probably best to just start over.

Nine o'clock came around slowly, which was time for Lacey's program about people whose poor hygiene had caused them to contract terrible diseases and infections– complete with poorly acted dramatizations of their stories. Rush supposed it was the least insufferable block of her Thursday night lineup. At the very least, it was disturbing enough to ward off all the lurid thoughts he was having.

Come a quarter to ten, Lacey seemed to have dozed off. Rush's eyes drifted away from the scribblings on his notepad and across the couch to steal a glance at her. She'd inched closer to him several times over the past hour in her repeated attempts to wrap the blanket more tightly around herself. Now she was in a veritable cocoon, her little head poking out from the blanket– though not without a bit of it strategically placed over her nose to keep it warm.

The temperature in the room was feeling quite comfortable now thanks to the fire, yet Rush couldn't really bring himself to mind when he felt Lacey shift closer to him again.

She was… pretty? Cute? Bundled up the way she was? He knew he probably shouldn't be staring, yet here he was, feeling a ridiculous ache in his chest. She squirmed under the blanket, stretching her legs out a little, and he caught himself smiling at the sight of her.

 _No, no._ He was _not_ falling in love with his tenant. Definitely not. She was just… amusing.

 _Gloria_ was the woman he loved. Gloria was warm, compassionate, gentle. A guiding light. The woman currently hogging his couch was a trainwreck. A binge-drinking, foul-mouthed, short-tempered disaster. A flashing neon sign indicating the fastest route to the gutter. How could he love _her?_ And how could one person have those feelings for two people who were such polar opposites? Was that not some sort of middle finger to everything Gloria was to him?

Lacey's eyelids twitched, then fluttered open. “Are you _staring_ at me?” she asked, a knowing smile curling her lips.

Rush startled and darted his eyes back to his notepad. _“No.”_

“You were totally staring at me.”

“I briefly looked in your direction, which you might notice is _right_ in my bloody personal space.” he muttered, she made that humming sound again– as if he'd said something she found curious.

Two completely different women. But he supposed he was a completely different man _too,_ wasn't he?

Losing Gloria. Spending several years contracted to do ethically questionable work for the government. Having his life's work swept out from under his feet by some amateur. Those things had changed him in irrevocable ways. Given him a completely different perspective on life. A much dimmer one. And yet somehow, the flashing neon sign on his couch had proven to be as good a light as any. Gave him something to look forward to at the end of a long day.

Lacey bit down on her lip and turned to face him better. “...Do you think I'm _pretty,_ Rush?”

_Yes._

_No, wait._

_Yes._

_No._

_A little._

He cleared his throat. “You… have features that could be considered conventionally attractive, I suppose.”

“Oh my _God,”_ Lacey snorted. “You know it's okay, right? Like, you can say it?”

“Say what?”

“Say, _'Yes, Lacey. I think you're pretty.’_ Instead of being like, 'I _suppose_ you have features that could be considered _conventionally_ attractive…’” she mocked.

He erased one of the figures on his notepad and aggressively wiped the resulting pink crumbs onto the floor. "And if _you_ wanted someone to inflate your ego you could just say so– yet here we are.”

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him and grinned. “...So you admit you think I'm pretty?”

 _“You_ admit you're fishing for compliments?”

She scoffed and shook her head, and he went back to his notepad. “Okay.” she said. “Maybe I am. Fishing for compliments.”

 _“Maybe?” h_ e asked, arching a brow at her.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “No ‘maybe.’ I am. I'm _totally_ asking you to inflate my ego. I mean, can you blame me?” She pulled the blanket up and gestured at her frumpy pajamas, tugging up the length of her pants to reveal his socks. “I look ridiculous.”

“Well, then...” he said, closing his notes and setting them on the arm of the couch. He laid his head back, pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled slowly.

_Was he really going to do this?_

Yes. Yes he was.

“Maybe I _do_ think you're pretty.”

Lacey wet her lips and bit back another smile. _“...maybe?”_

Rush scoffed and glanced away, but he couldn't bring himself to deny it.

“‘Cause I think you're kinda hot and your scrawny ass looks good in jeans.”

He laughed and rubbed a hand over his face, hoping he wasn't blushing. _“...What?”_

“See?” She shrugged and turned back to the TV. “I said it. No big deal.”

Rush rolled his head lazily to the side so he could look at her, finding her focused– too focused– on the TV screen.

_Interesting._

He wet his lips. “...Only in jeans?” he asked.

The apples of her cheeks rounded as she fought back a smile, but she didn't say anything.

“I'm just a bit curious here, because you see– I always wear jeans.” He sat up to face her better, and the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smug grin. “Am I to extrapolate then, that you _always_ think my arse looks good?”

“Don't be a wise-ass.” she said, her eyes still fixed on the TV.

_Oh, but he was nothing if not a wise-ass._

“But I thought it wisnae any big deal.” he shrugged. “Surely, one adult can say to another that they have a nice arse and–”

“Alright. Fine.” Lacey's hand poked out from under the blanket to point the remote at the TV so she could shut it off. She turned to face him and leaned into his face closely, as if to challenge him. “I think you have a nice ass.”

She failed to keep a straight face, snorting instead, and it made Rush's heart skip in a way he'd forgotten it could. He chuckled, tickled by her nearness, and her smile widened. Lacey French didn't smile often– at least, not around him– but when she _did?_ He couldn't help smiling back.

“I… think you're pretty.” he finally admitted.

Lacey nibbled her lip and looked down at his chest, and he couldn't remember the last time anybody had looked at him like that.

“That sweatshirt is way too big for you.” she told him.

He knit his brows together. “O-okay…”

“And your beard’s gotten too long.”

Rush let out a humored little huff through his nose. “Why? Do you fancy me without it?”

“No. I think you look good with stubble– just not this length. Now you just look like the picture of White Jesus my Catholic grandma had in her living room when I was a kid.”

He let out another scoff and looked away, trying to hide his smile. Gave up and looked back at her. “I’ll… certainly keep that in mind next time I give myself a trim.”

Lacey nibbled her lip again. “You reek of cigarettes, too.”

“Ah. But so do _you.” h_ e said, holding up a finger as if to boop her on the nose– _Tempting,_ but no.

“I don't even smoke!” she gasped.

"No. But you live in this house and spend most of your free time at a dive bar, surrounded by people who _do.”_

She pouted her lips indignantly, then raised her chin. “Well, you drink too much coffee.”

“And you drink too much alcohol.” he said right back.

“Alright, alright–” she laughed. “I won't deny that.”

“I mean it. I think you’ve got a problem.”

Lacey freed herself from the blanket and squirmed up closer to him so she could wrap it around them both. “...Says the guy who smokes a pack a day.”

He looked into her eyes as he tried to think of a comeback, but drew a blank. He couldn't think, not with her so close. Instead, he only smacked his lips. “...What are we doing?”

“It's called flirting.” she said.

Rush scoffed. “Never would've guessed.”

Her blue eyes gleamed, and the room suddenly seemed terribly quiet– the crackling of the fire terribly loud, his breaths terribly heavy. She glanced downwards, her gaze snapping from his eyes to his mouth, and his did the same.

She wet her lips again, and he realized she was about to kiss him. The thought didn't startle him as much as the realization that he had every intention of kissing her back. He cupped her face in his hands and leaned in, letting his little notepad drop from the arm of the sofa and onto the floor.

Her lips were dry, but so were his, and the warm wetness from the tip of her tongue reminded him just how parched he really was. Like the first sip of a cold glass of water, he immediately knew he needed _more,_ and his tentative sipping quickly grew into great, big, yearning gulps.

Her hands came up to his face, and she dragged her fingers through his too-long beard, tugging the little hairs in different directions. Some of them tickled and tingled while others pricked and poked.

She pulled away to look at him, and as he looked back, he felt it again– that strange determination to kiss her. He could see it reflected back at him in her eyes.

The understanding that she was feeling the same thing he was. The desire to empty their pockets, compare the pieces they found, and see how they might fit together.

He turned toward her and laid back, letting her climb over him so they could press their lips together again.

Her thumbs rubbed over his temples, and a little sound escaped him as he enjoyed the sensation of their lips slipping under and over each other's. Rush slid his hands up her arms, over her shoulders, and behind her neck, drawing her closer. A warm breath landed on his face as she pulled back for air, and it warmed the cold-nipped tip of his nose. Their eyes met for a moment, and they were so close, and he smiled.

Her lips were parted when she went back in, and the warmth of her breath spread across his face, thawing his cheeks. He let her slip her tongue into his mouth, curling his own upwards to stroke hers.

Her hands wandered down to his hips and slipped beneath his sweatshirt so she could tug it up and over his shoulders. With the arch of his back and the raising of his arms, it dropped onto the floor, and Rush felt a pleasant chill as his body adjusted to the cool. It made him feel suddenly so much more alert, aware, and sensitive to the way her hands felt on his skin. The way her weight felt in his lap. The way her hair fell over his shoulders as she leaned in to kiss him again.

Her lips and tongue weren't enough anymore. He tucked his hand beneath the hem of her shirt and cupped her breast, but then she flinched and pulled back.

_“Fuck, your hands are cold!”_

Rush winced and pulled it away, but she laughed and shook her head.

“I kinda like it, actually.” she giggled. “It made my nipples harder– Put it back!”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, putting his hand back. “Christ.”

Lacey half laughed and half moaned a she leaned in to kiss him again. He smiled against her lips, and the whole thing became sloppy as her tongue missed its target and lapped against the corner of his mouth. He followed after her, capturing her tongue between his lips, and began kneading her breast.

Her sounds grew louder and more desperate as he lightly rolled his thumb over her nipple, and her hips pressed against his more firmly. The little bit of friction roused him, spurring him on, but soon she started pulling away again.

“Why does that happen, anyway?” she asked breathily, tucking a strand of hair that had gotten in her mouth back behind her ear.

He pulled back and stared at her in confusion. “What?”

“Cold! And nipples!” she laughed.

“I-I-I–” Rush stammered and glanced upwards as he tried to recall what little biology he could. “...Pilomotor reflex?”

She pouted and tilted her head. “Is that what it's called?”

He hesitated and gave a slight nod. “...Aye. Blood vessels... contract to maintain core body temperature.” He took her nipple between his fingers and tugged it slightly, watching the way she closed her eyes and bit her lip in response. “Same reason ye get goosebumps.”

“...Huh.”

“This… interests you?” he asked.

“Yeah, kinda.” she shrugged before pushing him back down against the arm of the sofa.

Rush let out a grunt as she claimed his mouth again. He surrendered to her readily– as he was a man who enjoyed being consumed. Consumed by his work, consumed by his pain, consumed by his curiosity about the universe and all the order and disorder that it contained. But now, to be consumed by _her,_ was something unlike any other.

Their kisses grew hungrier and more desperate, as they began nipping and tugging at each other's lips. Sometimes she sucked at the tip of his tongue. Sometimes she dragged her teeth over the surface of it. Other times she took his bottom lip between her teeth and pulled it with her as she parted from him. She did one, and he reciprocated with the other, back and forth, in and out, as natural as breathing.

Rush slid a hand between her legs– up, up, until he was stopped by the baggy fabric of her pajama bottoms, stretched taut between her spread legs. He froze, releasing her lip from between his teeth and scoffed.

Of course this was one time she had bloody pants on.

She started to laugh and took mercy on him, climbing off his lap and rolling onto her back. He watched with amusement as she kicked her legs up in the air and pulled her bottoms off, taking her panties with them and leaving her in nothing but his old tube socks– a detail he found oddly endearing.

“I don't wanna hear you tell me to put pants on ever again after this,” Lacey snorted.

He smirked and shook his head, helping her back up. “I think you like it when I tell you to put pants on.”

She plopped back down on his lap and grinned, draping her arms over his shoulders. “Maybe I do.”

_“Maybe?”_

Lacey shot him a defeated look.

He rubbed his hands along her thighs with a smug grin on his face. “All good?”

She licked her lips and smiled. “Yeah.”

Rush pressed another kiss to her lips.   _“...Good.” h_ e said, bringing his fingers between her legs and lightly touching her there. She responded with a heavy breath, closing her eyes and pressing herself against him. The crackling of the fire was drowned out by her sounds as he caressed her, gently stroking and circling his fingers over her slick folds.

He kissed and licked at her neck, and he could feel the vibrations in her throat as she she got close and started to moan for him. He began to move his fingers more tentatively to explore what else she liked– motivated by how badly he needed to know how she would sound when he made her come.

With a small cry, her fingers clutched at his hair and she pulled him close. She began rocking her hips against him and whispered something he couldn't make out. It sounded like a plea, though– so he went harder, faster, until she cried out again and clenched her legs around him.

Lacey released a heavy breath and slumped against him, her small weight knocking him back against the arm of the sofa. Her hair fell in his face, and Rush drew a deep breath, inhaling the scent of it. As he brought his hand up to comb through it, the fruity-floral scent of her hair was overtaken by the musky smell of her come on his fingers. He breathed it in deeply, and she poked her head out from his chest to look at him.

Rush smiled and cupped her chin, dragging his thumb over her plump bottom lip. She angled her lips to kiss it, then chased each of his fingers so that she could kiss and suck the pads of them, too.

“You're not pretty.” he said. “You're beautiful.”

Lacey snorted and rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“What?” he scoffed and sat up little, and she curled up against his side.

She smiled and shook her head before resting it on his shoulder. “Nothing…”

She slipped a hand beneath his t-shirt and slid it up to his chest. Her thumb brushed over his nipple a few times, and Rush huffed out a little laugh at the tingling sensation it gave him. He put his hand over hers to stop her, then stretched over to meet her for a kiss. If he hadn't known any better, he'd swear her lips were made for his, and his for hers.  

Lacey started to mouth at his neck, slowly straddling back over his lap again. His hair began to stand on end as she worked, and his cock was starting to grow achingly hard. She pushed the hem of his shirt up past his chest, and began to kiss and lick him there, from navel to nipple, where she began to suck.

Rush threw his head back and moaned, humming her name. One of her hands reached for his belt, and he arched against her eagerly as she unfastened it. He closed his eyes and bit down on his lip as she pulled him out. Her hand wrapped around him loosely and pumped the length of him a few times be before he felt her thumb begin to circle around his tip.

 _“Fucking shite…”_ he exhaled, his hips jerking upwards as he threw his head back again. He heard her let out a little laugh, and felt the weight of her press against him as she leaned over to kiss him. He reached for her lips hungrily, but only managed to find her jawline instead.

Lacey used her free hand to turn his face toward her so they could share the kiss they both so desperately wanted, and Rush could've swallowed her whole then– Her lips, her tongue, so warm and wet and soft and inviting and–

 _“Fuck,”_ he whispered. “I want to be inside you, Lacey…”

There was another little laugh before she bit down on his lip and slowly dragged herself away, tugging it with her. It had a sobering effect on him, and he opened his eyes, once again admiring the view of her atop him.

She tucked his hair out of his face and cupped his chin. “Say it again, Nick. Say you want me.”

He gave her a crooked smile and looked up at her with dazed eyes. “I want you, Lacey. _...Fuck,_ I want you.”

She smiled and gripped his cock a little more tightly, rising up on her knees and lining them up.

“Wait, wait–” he said, blinking and sitting up a little. “What are you doing?”

Lacey laughed and rolled her eyes. “What does it look like?”

Rush sighed and rolled his. _“Condoms,_ Lacey.”

 _“Oh.”_ she gasped. “Shit. Yeah, hold on a sec–”

Just like that, she hopped off of his lap and scurried into her room– though not without shrieking about how much colder it had gotten in there since she first got home.

“You know,” she hollered from down the hall, “usually when I have sex, it's like… planned? I mean, not _planned,_ but like… this is just kinda unexpected, you know? ...Not that I never thought about it or anything, because I've _definitely_ thought about it...”

Rush wasn't sure what to say to that. Admit that he'd thought about it too? He swallowed and said nothing.

She returned with a handful of different colored packets, straddled his lap again, and started going through them. “Okay, so uh, let's see… we got regular size… _extra large…_ ” she squinted at the next packet and scoffed, tossing it over her shoulder. “That one's a dental dam.” she laughed. “Anyway…  another regular, large with some kind of fancy lubricant, extra large banana flavor, ribbed regular, and…”

“Jesus Christ, Lacey– how many do you _have?”_

“Hey, if you're gonna do it...” she mumbled in her defense. “Oh– this one's regular size too, but it's _ultra thin._ How's that sound?”

“I–”

“I mean I have more, but–”

“That one sounds fine, thank you.”

“Alright, just let me check…” She held it up to the light and examined it closely for a moment. “Cool. S’good for another two years.” She shrugged, tucking it between her lips and tossing the rest of them on the floor. She tore the packet open and Rush closed his eyes as she hastily rolled the condom up the length of him. “How's that?” She asked.

“Aye,” he exhaled. “Bloody fantastic.”

She acknowledged him with another kiss– teeth and tongues and heavy breaths– and started to climb off of him, inviting him instead to get on top of her. He crawled over to her, pushing his pants a little further down his hips and settled in the cradle of her thighs.

She lined him up again and he took himself in hand, brushing his tip along her slit. It was so warm between her legs, and she was so wet and ready for him. _“Please,”_ she whispered against his cheek.

Rush closed his eyes and groaned as he sank into her. She whimpered and pressed her hips against him, and he hooked an arm around her leg, bending it upwards so he could bury himself deeper. “Fuck, Lacey…” he panted as he started to pump into her slowly.

She moaned with each roll of his hips, her nerves humming with a pleasure that mounted each time he drew in and out of her. Her hands clutched desperately at his hair, pulling him closer because it simply wasn't close enough. She wanted all of him, and slanted her lips over his, mouth open wide as if to swallow him whole.

He started pumping into her faster, and Lacey gasped as a small spark of pleasure suddenly swelled into a blaze. “Oh God, yes…” she groaned, and her insatiable kisses were replaced with heavy panting.

Heat built between their bodies, and his breaths began to grow labored from effort as she got closer to climax. She angled her hips and whimpered at the spark that coursed through her with his next thrust.

“Please…” she begged and rolled her hips against his desperately. He muttered a string of obscenities and buried his face in her neck, and she spread her thighs further for him. He pushed into her, pressing her between himself and the cushion she sat on. He slammed his hips into her again and again, and she cried out, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Her thighs trembled and her mind was consumed by a burst of white hot light as she came down on him hard. He jerked into her raggedly a few more times and finally slumped against her, his heavy breaths warming her neck and shoulders as he began to recover.

They lied still for a moment before Rush stirred and pulled out of her. He fell back against the sofa with a sigh, and Lacey followed him down, curling up against his side. She closed her eyes, feeling his chest rise and fall as he caught his breath and letting it lull her to sleep.

Just as she was about to nod off, Rush pat a hand on her bottom. “Up, up.”

“What?” She blinked herself into wakefulness and rolled off of him so he could get up. “Where are you going?”

He raised a confused brow and reached across the coffee table for a tissue so he could take his condom off. “Taking a leak. Disposing of _this…”_

“Oh.” Lacey shook her head, embarrassed by her reaction. “Yeah. Right.”

Rush reached out and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “I’ll ah… put some more wood in the fire when I get back, alright?”

Lacey fought back a smile and reciprocated the touch. “Okay.”

“You know– this actually opens up,” he said, glancing down at the couch and giving it a pat. “Think you can figure it out?”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “I'm not _stupid,_ Rush.”

He smiled and got up, tugging his jeans over his hips and tucking himself back in. “Good. 'Cause I've had the bloody thing for years and _still_ canny figure it out.”

“Oh, go take your piss already!” she huffed and gave him a half-hearted kick in the rear, sending him on his way.

Lacey dragged the coffee table out of the way and had only just begun to figure out how to open the couch up when she heard his footsteps dragging back up the hall. The springs squeaked as she let go of the handle on the mattress and spun around to face him. He'd traded his jeans for a pair of pajama pants, and Lacey realized that she _had_ in fact, never seen him in anything other than denim.

He knelt down in front of the wood burning stove and swung the door open, loading in another log and stoking the fire.

“...Yeah, you were right.” Lacey snickered, returning to the sofa and grasping the handle so she could open the mattress again. “Your ass just _always_ looks good.”

He scoffed and finished up, closing the door on the stove and stepping behind her. She gave the mattress a hefty pull, but it simply refused to open all the way.

She let go with an exasperated huff and Rush rested his hands on her shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. Lacey felt his fingers lightly scrape along her neck as he gathered her hair away from her face.

A hand slid over her bottom and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “So does yours.”

Lacey shot him and skeptical look and scowled at the couch again. “There's gotta be like, a lever or-or _something.”_ she muttered and crawled down on the floor to peer under the couch. She could hear Rush beginning to laugh, and shot him another look over her shoulder. _“What?”_

“Nothing.” he chuckled. “You're just cute.”

“Am not.” she said, squirming flat on her belly so she could reach her arm beneath the couch and feel around.

“So _determined.”_

Her hand knocked into something cold and hard. “Wait, wait– I think I got it.” She pulled it to the side, until it made a heavy click, and crawled back up to her feet. “Try that.” she said, brushing her hair out of her face and planting her hands on her hips.

“You seem confident.” Rush smiled, gripping the handle and pulling the mattress up. It opened further this time, and he made a surprised face as it finally opened all the way and laid flat.

“The trick is to be ten percent smarter than the couch.” Lacey said, giving him a light smack on the bottom and heading down the hall to her bedroom.

She grabbed her comforter and pillows and hurried back into the warmth of the living room, tossing them on the mattress. Rush pointed a finger in the air and parted his lips, cutting himself off and spinning on his heels to go and do the same.

The mattress was about as stiff and lumpy as one might expect, but Lacey burrowed under the blankets without a thought, enjoying the heat of the fire across the room and the knowledge that she'd be sharing them with him in a moment.

Soon she was spooned up behind him, their bodies tangled beneath the blankets that they'd brought in. The fire crackled and Lacey curiously poked and prodded at his hair, his beard, all the little birthmarks that dotted his arms. He had a deep scar on his shoulder too, but she knew better than to ask what it was from.

“How did you get like this?” Lacey asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I Googled you.”

“Oh. Wonderful.” he deadpanned.

“You were like, a big deal. You worked for the government on some top secret space program. Were hailed as _one of the greatest scientific minds of our generation_ or whatever.”

He shifted a little so he could look over his shoulder at her. “And?”

“Well… now you're teaching astronomy and physics at a community college in some no-name town in fucking _Maine,_ sustaining yourself on caffeine and cigarettes.”

“Thank you for _that_ reminder,” Rush sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He rolled onto his back and smiled. “Would you believe me if I said that I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you?”

Lacey snorted and wiggled closer, leaning over him. “I'm honestly not sure.”

"Well, then again.. ” he pouted his lips and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I suppose the feds _might_ be willing to spare you if I were to convince them that your life is of great importance to me.”

“Aww…” She combed her fingers through his hair, brushing it at his greying temples. “You’d lie to the government for me?”

“Don't be too flattered.” he chuckled and pat her arm. “I’ve lied to the government for far less.”

She rolled her eyes and curled up beside him. She laid her head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Yeah, but what you're saying is… Lacey French isn't at the bottom of the list of things Dr Nicholas Rush cares about? I'm like, somewhere in the middle?”

“You're… in the fifteenth percentile, perhaps.”

"Shit! The _fifteenth!?_ I was thinking I'd probably put you in like, the forty-seventh or something.”

“Forty-seventh!?” he squawked, playfully shoving her away. “Is _that_ all I'm worth to you?”

“Okay, okay– twenty-first percentile, then.” Lacey giggled.

“...Hm. Well, I suppose that's fair.” he shrugged, tugging her closer again and pressing a kiss to her temple. “But you'd probably still have to sign about three dozen non-disclosure agreements, abandon your life here to go into WITSEC, and agree to have the government spy on you for as long as you live.”

“Please. Everyone knows the government’s already spying on us anyway.” Lacey snickered.

He smiled at that and began dragging his fingertips along the length of her arm. She looked him in the eyes for a moment as she enjoyed the touch. Their eyes wandered to each other's lips again, and they met for a quick kiss.

“WITSEC sounds like a pretty sweet deal if you ask me.” Lacey said. “Fresh start? Uncle Sam hooking me up with some new digs and a job in a city where no one knows who I am?”

Rush laced their fingers and brought her hand up to his lips, pressing another kiss to her knuckles. “Not _quite_ how it works, sweetheart. But I suppose I can see the appeal.”

Lacey fought back a smile at that word. _Sweetheart._

“If you told me all of your juicy government secrets about the aliens, could we go into WITSEC together?” she asked.

Rush blinked for a moment and furrowed his brows. _“...Aliens?”_

“Oh, come on!” she laughed. “You don't have to play stupid with me, Rush. It's _totally_ aliens.”

He hesitated, took a deep breath, and smiled. “I… cannot confirm nor deny that statement.”

“Which is basically a confirmation.”

“It's really not.” he chuckled. “The statistical likelihood of there being intelligent life on another planet is just as small as the statistical likelihood of there _not_ being intelligent life on another planet. It's quite a paradox, really.” he explained.

“Fermi’s paradox.” Lacey said proudly, hiding her smile behind a balled-up fist. “If the existence of extraterrestrial life is as likely as the mediocrity principle says it is, then why haven't we found any evidence of it yet?”

“Aye. Exactly.” Rush said, booping her on the nose. "But regardless, my work was in studying the formation and evolution of galaxies, not… extraterrestrial life.”

 _“And–_ ” Lacey cut in, “Proving the existence of wormholes.”

Rush shrugged. “Still not astrobiology.”

“Whatever. You totally discovered a wormhole and it took you to the aliens.”

He raised a brow at her. “Is that what you think?”

“Mhm. You seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth from 2009 to 2011.” Lacey said. She buried her face in his neck and lowered her voice to a whisper, as if to seduce him. “...Can you account for that time, Doctor Rush?”

He huffed out a little laugh and responded in kind. “My contract with the US government… involved taking up residence at a location that I am not at liberty to disclose...” he whispered, letting his hand wander along her thigh.

"Mm…” Lacey hummed in his ear, sliding a hand up his chest. “Probably because it was a– _”_ she pulled back and started to laugh, _“...Secret base_ on another _planet_ in a different _solar system!”_

He cracked a full smile at that, and Lacey's heart did a flip at how beautiful he was. She always loved it when she managed to get a smile out of him.

“Okay, so _dude–”_ She flopped onto her belly to face him better. “You tell me about the aliens and we go into WITSEC. What would our new identities be?”

“Hm.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, raking his eyes over her features. “...Isabelle Schwartz.” he decided. “Works at the animal shelter. Owns too many cats.”

“Hm. Simple... But I like it– the impossibility of the concept of too many cats aside...” Lacey said. “You can be a musician or something. But you gotta have a super Scottish-sounding name. Something like…” she started sputtering on her words with laughter, “...Scotty Wallace MacDougall.”

Rush stared blankly at the wall for a moment and blinked. _“...Christ.”_

“I know,” she giggled and shook her head. “It's bad. That was bad.”

He brushed her hair out of her face and wrapped and ringlet around his finger. “How about… Lachlan. Lachlan… MacAldonich?”

“Lachlan Mac _Who?”_ she said, raising her brows.

"MacAldonich. Farmer by day. Struggling musician by night. Works the farmer's market at the weekend.”

“I like it. That can be how we meet. I'm the totally unassuming-but-secretly-kinky cat lady who buys her tomatoes from you. Your music sucks, but I go to all your shows anyway and we have real freaky sex afterwards.”

Rush pouted and gave a half-shrug. “You see, that problem with all that… is that I can't play guitar.”

“Details, schmetails,” Lacey said, swatting a hand through the air. “Now are you gonna tell me about the aliens or what?”

Rush smiled. “What aliens?”

She shot him a defeated look.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I don't know anything about any alien species, Lacey. Honest.”

“That sounds _exactly_ like the sort of thing the government would order someone who _does_ know something about the aliens to say.”

“I wouldn't know.” Rush said, and he sat up a little, narrowing his eyes at her. “And why do you keep referring to them in the definitive?”

“Uh…” she laughed, “because they're _definitely_ real?”

He rolled them over, switching their positions and leaning over her. “Based on what evidence, Miss French?” he asked, taking her again and lacing and unlacing their fingers.

“Recent estimates put the number of planets in habitable zones in the billions, professor.” she smiled sweetly. “Up to forty billion in the Milky Way alone. The chances of none of these candidates spawning intelligent life would have to be slim to none.”

“That's all well and good, Miss French.” he shrugged and pressed a kiss to her hand. “But as you pointed out yourself– if the odds are so high, then why haven't we encountered any signs of life yet?”

Lacey snorted. “Have you taken a look at Earth recently? We're a giant dumpster fire! If any intelligent life got the slightest glimpse of us, they'd turn their asses around and never come back.”

“Fair enough.” he chuckled.

The room fell quiet again, save for the sound of the wood crackling in the fire. The shadows danced along their faces differently as the flames wavered, and Lacey sat up a bit so she could pull him in for a kiss. His beard pricked her face as he opened up for her, but his touch was still gentle. There was no urgency in their kisses now, and they were instead taking their time to enjoy the feel of each other's lips on their own. They drank their fill of each other and nestled back under the blankets comfortably again.

“So what do they look like?” Lacey asked.

He furrowed his brows. “What do _who_ look like?”

She climbed over him again and got in his face. “You're dropping back down to the forty-seventh percentile real quick, pal.”

Rush smiled and combed his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “Little green men. With the dark, soulless eyes and enormous skulls, all the better to accommodate their highly developed brains.”

“Bullshit.”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

He shrugged and closed his eyes. “...Blue. They're blue men. Freakishly tall with lots of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. Wear these bizarre jumpsuits not unlike Ziggy Stardust. Got the cheekbones to match and communicate exclusively via telepathy.”

"Now you're just making shit up.”

He blinked his eyes open and knit his brows together. “Am not.”

“You're telling me the aliens look like David Bowie?” she laughed.

“Not what I said.”

"Okay, but it totally supports the theory that Bowie was an alien.”

“Ah, yes.” he scoffed. “Bowie was an intergalactic diplomat, come to Earth to determine whether or not we were ready for first contact.”

Lacey clicked her tongue. “I _knew_ it.”

“Aye. That's some highly privileged intel, so you better start packing your bags now.” he said. "Feds’ll be knocking down the door any minute.”

She snuggled up against his side and sighed. “They'll have to take us by force, because I have no intention of moving from this spot any time soon.”

“Neither do I.” he said, and Lacey smiled up at him.

They enjoyed the quiet again. The fire, the sound of each other's breaths, the rustling of the sheets as they got comfortable.

Then Rush wet his lips and sighed. “I _do_ love you, Lacey.” he said. “I want you to know that.”

“Rush, You don't have to–” she cut herself off and inched away from him. “I know how this works, okay?”

“How what works?”

“You think I haven't been told that before by–”

“Well, _I'm_ saying it now.” he said. “I love you.” His hand slid around her hip to squeeze her bottom. “...And your wee skirts.”

Lacey huffed, smiling despite herself. Rush might be a bitterly sarcastic asshole, but he didn't say things he didn't mean– not where it counted, at least– and she'd always liked that about him. “I love you too." She said. “...And you're never getting these socks back.”

 _“Those_ gross old things?” he asked. “Keep ‘em.”

Lacey made a disgusted sound and spooned her back against him. His arm wrapped around her waist and she closed her eyes, smiling when she felt him tug her closer and press a kiss to her shoulder.

After her shift tomorrow, she decided, she'd buy that crappy keychain– for no other reason than that it made her think of him.


End file.
